By the year 2014, scientists - meaning my brain - predict that four out of every five Australians will have participated in a televised cooking, singing or renovation competition.
Unable to find anyone over the age of six who hasn’t ruined a batch of macarons, covered an ‘80s ballad or panicked about tiling patterns on national TV, producers will be forced to resort to the construction of an army of immortal robots tasked with endlessly installing water features and preparing fusion dishes until civilisation crumbles and George Calombaris becomes ruler of the rag-tag group of rebels who patrol the Earth’s shattered highways.
For years, our screens have been dominated by accountants and architects in aprons, couples having domestics on building sites and bubbly teens with floppy fringes sacrificing themselves to Kyle Sandilands - the human-shaped God of Patronising Rage.
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